A Reason to Stay
by She-Elf23
Summary: "In another age, our people waged war on those lands. My mother died there...my father does not speak of it. There is no grave, no memory...nothing." A take on the death of Thranduil's wife and why the Elven king chose to stay in Middle Earth. (Includes adorable baby Legolas!)
1. The Family of the Woodland King

**A Reason to Stay**

 _This story was just another one I had in my back pocket. It's only a few short chapters and is simply my take on the loss of Thranduil's wife and what compelled the Elven king to ultimately stay and forego sailing west. As with all of my stories, this story was just written for pleasure and, I'm sure, has many technical inaccuracies. Please just overlook and enjoy it for what it is!_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for_ _Cílon (whose beginnings with the royal family you'll get to see in this story)._

 _Translations for entire story:_

 _Hir-nin = my lord_

 _Penneth = young one_

 _Ion-nin = my son_

 _Herven-nin = my husband_

 _Bereth-nin = my wife_

 _Mel-nin = my love_

 _Hannon-leh = thank you_

 _Ada = father_

 _Naneth = mother_

* * *

"Your grace, the master of Dale presses for greater payment."

An impatient sigh escaped the lips of the Elven King. "Again?"

"He cites the reason for this upcharge to be your grace's increased demands in wine barrels for the upcoming party," quoted the woodland messenger, daring to peek a brief glimpse at his king to gauge his mood before continuing. "He states the normal shipment at the previous price would be satisfactory but that this rushed, larger order should be compensated accordingly." The Elven King cocked his head forward and raised a single eyebrow.

"And his proposed terms are…?" The messenger bit his lip and nervously glanced once back down at the parchment in his hands.

"15%...?" the Silvan elf replied and gave his king a quizzical look, unsure if the terms would sit well with him. The messenger guessed correctly and inwardly cringed as he watched the king's eyes widen, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his posture lean forward from his chair.

"15?" repeated the king in shock. The messenger swallowed nervously.

"Yes, my lord," he confirmed and rolled up the scroll bearing the legal mark of Dale. The king sighed in frustration and rose from behind his desk, placing his palms flat against the smooth wood of the table top as he stood.

"We shall give 5% and no more," instructed the king and the messenger in a discreet burst of activity flourished out a pen to record his orders. "I will agree to a raise in the fee for the rushed demands but will _not_ be cheated. After this order, we will return to the agreed upon contract. I think that is fair for all parties involved." The king set his chin firm as he slowly rounded the desk, preparing to retire for the evening. As he gathered a few letters from his large pile of work to privately address, he smirked. "They will not argue as we are their sole source of income for that trade and have little choice but to meet our wishes," he smiled smugly.

"Until they discover they are our sole supplier," muttered the servant as he continued his scribbling. The king paused his walk to the door and the messenger froze as he realized he had greatly spoken out of turn. He heard the rustle of the king's robes behind him as he turned and felt his weighty gaze upon his back. He swallowed again, waiting for the king to speak. The tense silence stretched for a minute more before he heard a reply.

" _Quite_ ," was all that was said on the subject, the king's tone unreadable but for a hint of warning. A pause of disciplinary silence followed to solidify its meaning before the monarch spoke again, his tone returning to its normal steady note of authority. "We shall continue with the rest tomorrow." The messenger did not release his breath until the doors shut heavily behind the king.

* * *

Pale elven fingers danced in clear, warm water, causing a small current to swirl and circle. A single green leaf bounced and bobbled along with the gentle current, twisting this way and that, ever slowly coursing downstream. Two pairs of eyes beheld the leaf. The first, a young pair of blue sapphires, gleaming with excited focus. The other, a gentle laughing pair of silver-white gems, pure as starlight, watching the owner of the first one with pleasure.

"Be patient, penneth. Wait until it comes within your reach," the young female elf whispered eagerly to her son who obeyed with restrained energy. They both watched the leaf bobble along as it came closer and closer towards them. "Wait for it…" she whispered again, her giddiness leaking through. Her son's eyes widened with adrenaline as the leaf trickled nearer until finally it was close enough for him to pounce upon it. The warm tub water splashed up on them both and the laughter of mother and child blended together in rippling melody. The boy proudly thrust his hand upwards towards his mother, the green leaf clutched victoriously in chubby fingers. "Delightful, my darling!" encouraged the young she-elf and bent down to kiss his soft hand. "You did it again!" The baby chortled happy cries of excitement and splashed the water around him in triumph.

The sound of the bedroom door opening distracted the mother from her charge and her smile broke out wider as she saw her tall husband enter.

"You have arrived just in time, herven-nin," she greeted brightly as she twisted farther from the wooden bathtub to see him. "Our son has just managed to catch yet another stray leaf! That makes four now, just tonight!"

Thranduil briefly glanced up from the various letters in his hands as he crossed the room to his private desk in the corner. "You are aware, Amathwen, that we do in fact have servants for this chore," he drawled as he sorted through the letters, his back to his family.

"It is _not_ a chore!" countered Amathwen brightly, as she attempted a disapproving scowl and failed miserably. "I enjoy bathing him! We have fun adventures together in this little tub. Don't we, ion-nin?" She cooed as she turned back around to scrunch her nose up playfully at her firstborn. The baby giggled back and pressed the wet leaf to her cheek. Amathwen smiled and took the offered leaf from her son. "You should come watch and play with us, mel-nin. Our son's aim is quite excellent."

Thranduil gave a small smile at his young wife's gaiety and finished reading the last bit of one of the letters before placing them on the desk to draw closer to the wooden tub that had been placed in their large bedroom beside the lit fireplace. His son generally would be bathed in the tub in his nursery by his maids, but his wife had a peculiar habit of insisting she bathe him in their own room. "Legolas is very bright for such a young age. I would expect nothing less," he commented as he gathered his robes and knelt to the floor beside his wife at the tub's edge. "Show me," he requested softly and smiled with pride down at his young son. The baby eagerly watched his mother place the crumpled leaf at the far end of the tub and swirl her hand to create the currents. The small leaf twisted and spun in the wake of her graceful fingers and soon approached Legolas. The baby squealed with glee as the leaf floated closer until…SPLASH!

Thranduil jumped back slightly as warm droplets splattered his face and he blinked quickly. After carefully rubbing a few drops out of his eyes, he saw his son happily clutching the leaf and presenting it with pride. "Well done, ion-nin! With aim such as that, you may have some skill as a warrior someday," he praised his son with a smile but Legolas was too occupied with studying the leaf to notice.

"Or at least a hunter of leaves maybe," laughed Amathwen and Thranduil joined her in her mirth. "Do you wish to try, Ada?" Thranduil hesitated briefly before nodding, and Amathwen turned to coax her son to give up his prized possession. "Give the leaf to Ada, Legolas," she prodded as she brushed the short wet blond locks out of her son's eyes. But Legolas could not be convinced as he was too content to simply inspect the leaf. Amathwen tried two more times before Thranduil sighed and stood.

"Perhaps another time then. The evening draws late as it is," he hinted as he headed towards his closet to undress. Amathwen sighed in agreement but her smile quickly returned as she selected a choice fluffy towel nearby and scooped Legolas out of the bathwater. By the time Thranduil had returned, his wife had properly dried off their son and wrestled him into his nightgown. He noted the servants had also been by to remove the bathtub. Amathwen eagerly approached him as he drew near the bed and gently deposited their son into his arms so she could undress herself. Realizing he was being separated from his mother, Legolas began to whine and grow fussy, stretching to see where she had gone. Thranduil gently hushed his son and stroked his hair to calm him.

"Hush, penneth. Naneth will return, I promise," he softly whispered in the baby's ear and drank in his clean scent of pine from his bath. Legolas's lower lip still trembled and he continued to whine until Amathwen reappeared. It was all Thranduil could do to keep Legolas from leaping out of his arms and into his mother's.

"Now, now, penneth. There is no reason to cry. I am here. Ada is here," encouraged Amathwen as Legolas simmered down against her chest. "So no more tears tonight." She glanced up at Thranduil's taut expression and sighed with an embarrassed smile. "He's just tired, mel-nin."

"I seem to catch him often when he is tired then," her husband merely stated as he headed towards his side of the bed.

"Thranduil, this is natural and happens to many fathers. Just give it time," Amathwen tried to reassure him before exiting their room to go put their son down for the night. Thranduil poured himself a glass of wine before lowering himself down to their large bed and waited for his wife to return.

Amathwen returned not but ten minutes later and grinned as she shut the door behind her. "He is already fast asleep! That bath must have drained him." Thranduil merely hummed in reply as he took another sip of his glass before setting it on the side table. He allowed his eyes to survey his beautiful wife as she removed her evening robe and fingered her golden hair to loosen her intricate braids. She caught him looking but he didn't shy away and merely smiled broader. "I see something pleases you, hir-nin?" she teased him and started to undress further until there was nothing left but a single strand of white gems which she always wore about her neck.

"Hmm, I always see something that pleases me," he complimented as she crawled onto the bed to draw closer and he drew himself up on one arm to lean over her. His face momentarily frowned. "Although…" Amathwen's face suddenly fell at his tone. Her immediate change in expression amused him as he realized she mistook his meaning.

"You did not let me finish," he laughed aloud and ran a gentle hand down her cheek to soften her worried expression. "I was merely going to say that you should have a necklace more fit for a queen made for you," he softly told her as his long graceful fingers trailed lovingly down her neck and fingered the simple white gems that hung there.

"But what is wrong with these? I'm quite fond of them," she playfully pouted and reached up to brush back some of her husband's long white blond hair so she could see his face more clearly.

"There is nothing wrong with them, bereth-nin," he assured her and bent to place the softest of kisses at the tender portion of her throat. "I just wish to give you the best is all." He felt her hum in satisfaction as his hands snaked around her bare body and pulled her closer to him.

"Perhaps as a wedding anniversary gift then sometime," she whispered, beginning to lose touch with rational thought as his lips began to explore her. "For now, it is only you that I want."

Thranduil paused in his ministrations to look upon his angel, absolute adoration and loving worship only in his eyes. "For me, you are all that I ever want," he breathed, his hot breath tickling her bare skin. Amathwen's smile shone as radiant as her eyes, causing the gems at her neck to fade in comparison. For the rest of the night, the Elven king and his wife proved to the other their undying love and pure passion for the other, with the twinkling starlight as only a witness.

* * *

 _So chapter one ends happy for the Elven king and his family…something I can't really promise obviously for the rest of this story._

 _I tried to sort of fill in some gaps with the gems and their connection to Thranduil's wife. (By the way, if you have never watched the behind the scenes stuff regarding those gems for the Hobbit movies, definitely watch it as it explains a lot about their take on them and Thranduil's obsession with them. Watching that sort of prompted this short story.) I know people write Thranduil's wife in different ways, but I always have sort of pictured her as very light-hearted which would balance him out a bit. I see her as his light in a very dark world, which is why she is very precious to him. I also tried to give her traits that I could see manifesting in Legolas—namely her playfulness and curiosity. I picture her as quite a bit smaller than Thranduil and much more delicate and gentle in appearance but deceptively very strong and resilient (also to sort of show how Legolas is a blend of his two parents). Let me know what you think! Reviews are appreciated!_


	2. The Loss of Mirkwood

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

Soft sunrays streamed through the royal bedroom, gently tickling Thranduil's senses and arousing him from sleep. A deep breath of forest air filled his lungs, and he stretched his sore muscles in the subtle warmth of the sun, trickling in through the strategic ceiling cracks that allowed in light. The sheet fell to his naked waist as he sat up, a smile upon his lips as he recalled last night. He turned to drink in the beauty who lay beside him, only to find she was not there. His shoulders slumped in disappointment and his face frowned in confusion. He glanced around the room and found no trace of his wife. Puzzled, his mind began to try to discern the reason for a hasty departure after such a pleasurable night, but his brain was still hazy from it being morning. Eventually Amathwen entered the room, Legolas on her hip, and she was already dressed in her traveling garb. Thranduil's heart sank. He now remembered.

"Must you leave so early?" he protested with a hint of a whine. "Surely you could reach Lake Evendim in plenty of time if you depart later today." Amathwen laughed from the closet as she selected an outfit for Legolas.

"Perhaps, but I know my husband will manage to convince me to stay entirely if I delay my trip," she teased as she made her way back to the bed. Thranduil smiled with amusement and leaned back against the headboard.

"Perhaps…" he teased back in a softer voice. Amathwen set Legolas in his lap as well as his clothes, her meaning clear, and Thranduil obliged. The babe was not as fussy as the previous night but still did not much acknowledge his father, his eyes content to watch his mother as she bustled about packing. "You are taking several guards with you, I trust," Thranduil hinted, his voice firm as he stripped his son naked and began to slide the pale green tunic over his head.

"Yes, six," assured Amathwen with a nod and then added with a smile, "Not including myself."

"So the equivalent of twelve then," replied Thranduil and glanced away from his son to smile at his wife. Before she became his queen, Amathwen served her lord as one of his best captains. She was small and graceful but lethal. Thranduil once described that watching her in battle was like watching a very deadly ballet. One would never suspect it from the small and willowy picture of elegance before him now.

"You flatter me, hir-nin," Amathwen teased but then resumed folding her son's tunics for the trip. "But I am sure there will be no cause for concern. And plenty of provisions have been packed for the trip there and back. We will be fine."

"I still do not see why you insist on these travels to the far corners of Middle Earth," Thranduil frowned as he stroked his son's cheek to try to gain his attention. "Nor to take our son who is still yet so young."

Amathwen sighed but her smile remained. "It is not to the far corners of Middle Earth, herven-nin. It is just across the mountains and to a peaceful lake," she assured him. "And there are many wonderful places in Middle Earth we have yet to see. I wish for our son to see and enjoy such places. Do you not want to see them?"

"I have seen my fill of this land," Thranduil frowned but his face was sad. "Evil spreads upon it, and pain and grief are the souvenirs you take home with you." Amathwen paused her packing to look up at her husband and took in his sad expression as he watched his son. She knew of his past and how it was filled with much pain and hurt. So much had been put on his young shoulders all those years ago. It was her wish for him not to forget the past, but to see that there was much good in the future. Silently, she rounded the corner of the bed and sat on the edge beside him, lifting his chin to look at her.

"Mel-nin, there is still good in this world," she assured him with a smile. "Fight for that. Do not let yourself be consumed by the darkness. Stride out into it and bring the light with you. Only then will it be defeated." She watched his eyes lighten at her words and felt him nod slightly.

"Be careful," he whispered, vulnerability lacing his tone. Amathwen nodded to comfort her husband.

"We will," she promised. Thranduil bent to place a kiss upon his son's head and then leaned forward to meet his wife, savoring the sweet taste of honey and strawberries upon her lips.

* * *

Six days passed since Thranduil had bid his family farewell. Six long days, if Thranduil were being honest with himself. His mornings had been full of paperwork and decisions, his afternoons full of meetings, and his evenings once again full of paperwork. It was all getting rather tedious without the joyful presence of his wife to bring a highlight to his day. She had written once, describing the landscape they had crossed so far and their progress. He knew it was an attempt to include him but also to relieve his worry for them. He had doubled the guard she took with her just before they left, just in case. He was aware of the road she was taking and knew some places were more unpleasant than others.

And speaking of unpleasant…the king refocused his attention on the elf before him, Arveldir, one of his trusted advisors and friend since before he had risen to the throne. The topic being discussed at hand was rather dry and Thranduil could care less about…whatever it was they were discussing. He had already forgotten. The king sighed tiredly. Figuring a bit of wine would do him some good, he rose from his desk to cross over to the pitcher on the other side of the room. He waved his hand for Arveldir to continue speaking and really attempted to listen. Something about trade routes and safer paths. Ah, yes. The orcs were beginning to grow bolder and expand their range, threatening trade in the North.

As Thranduil began to pour a glass, he found his thoughts refused to remain on the topic at hand. Something was wrong. Something did not feel right. He took a long breath to steady himself but could not shake the foreboding sense of despair. His hands began to shake as he poured, and he suddenly felt all strength leave him as his heart tightened violently within his chest. The king gasped as he dropped both pitcher and glass and fell to his knees, clutching his chest fiercely. The loud clatter and shattering of glass caught the attention of the advisor who spun around and was shocked to find his king crouched on the floor and panting in a puddle of wine.

"My lord?" Arveldir asked with utmost concern, rushing over. His hands hovered over his king but dared not to touch. Thranduil panted for breath and quivered in shock, his eyes wide at the pain in his heart. Fear ensnared him as his heart within his chest would not unclench and only hurt worse. He squinted his eyes shut tightly and curled in on himself, a raw cry of pain escaping his lips.

"Thranduil?" cried Arveldir with immense worry and turned his head towards the door. "Send for a healer!" he shouted at the guards he knew to be on the other side. But Thranduil already knew a healer would not help, for realization crept into his mind as he understood the sensation that gripped him. He had felt it once before, though to a much lesser degree, on the plains of Dagorlad when his father passed out of this world.

"My horse," gasped Thranduil as he forced himself to uncurl and stand. The advisor could linger no more and leapt forward to assist the trembling king to his feet.

"What?" Arveldir blinked in surprise.

"Ready my horse. NOW!" shouted Thranduil and wrenched himself free from his advisor. He stumbled at first but then took off with renewed strength out the door and towards the armory. Arveldir hurried out the door to watch him bolt, afraid to leave him alone. He ordered the remaining guard to prepare the king's ride, but then rushed after the distraught monarch. By the time he arrived at the armory, breathless and panting, he found a flurry of activity. Elves swarmed around the king in practiced pattern, encasing him in his armor. The advisor could hardly keep back his question.

"What is wrong, hir-nin?" he asked in confusion. The king looked up at the elf, a wild look in his eye and his temper quick on his tongue.

"Ready the army to ride in less than an hour. Have them follow me _immediately_ ," the king demanded, his tone unearthly and shaking with rage and fear. The advisor instinctively took a step back, his lord's manner frightening him. He had never seen him this shaken before. Nodding his obedience, Arveldir backpedaled away from his master and went to give the orders. The king's ride was brought around at a run just as the last elf was buckling his swords to his hip. The servant was barely able to finish securing the strap when the king swung himself up on his steed. The horse pranced anxiously beneath its rider, the severity of the situation not lost on him. Thranduil swung the reins sharp towards the exit and bolted at a dead run without another word. Fearful and confused looks were exchanged amongst the servants but they quickly prepared themselves to address the elven troops that were now suddenly pouring in at a run to catch up with their king.

* * *

A trembling thunder could steadily be heard across the plains west of the forests of Mirkwood. Seven thousand horses bearing elven riders rode hard and without pause across the fields. No reason had been given to them. Strict obedience and love for their king drove them forward. Through the night they rode, reaching their destination in a single day. Upon the morning—grey and drizzling with rain—the seven captains only allowed their troops to slow when they finally caught sight of their king. It was on the slopes of Mount Gundabad, the entrance into the Mountains of Angmar, that they found him…and the horror surrounding him.

The eldest elven captain—Feren, head of the guard—signaled the army to a complete halt and jumped off his horse. His footsteps slowed as he drew nearer and finally understood what his eyes beheld. He was forced to place a hand across his mouth to keep from vomiting, so gruesome was the sight at his feet. Strewn at the foot of the mountain amidst hundreds of orc corpses lay twelve elven bodies, royal guards of Mirkwood—dismembered, battered, and bloodied beyond recognition. Their horses rotted beside them in the rain, necks twisted at wrong angles, legs missing. The other six elven captains trailing behind their leader wore similar faces of shock and disgust. The question of survivors was mute—they had clearly been overwhelmed.

The elven captain dared to draw closer to his king. He could not see his face but saw the king was fixed on something before him. Something laying in the mud at his feet. Slowly, ever so slowly, the elven monarch knelt down to the mud and the captain then could see what drew the king to the ground. An elvish sword. The Queen's sword. Stained black with orc blood…and red with elven. The captain felt his heart fail within his chest, the thought that such harm should befall their beloved queen. He could not even imagine the state of the king. And he did not have to.

Thranduil rose silently from the ground, his frame visibly shaking with fury. His piercing eyes searched the track marks in the mud. Massive footprints led away from the battle into the entrance of Gundabad, now eerily quiet. Swerving drag marks accompanied the footprints…and it took little imagination to wonder who that could have been as all of the royal guards had been accounted for. But no hope swelled in the heart of the king. For he already knew the fate of his other half in the very core of his being…and he grew cold with hate. A faint glow from within the entrance hinted of foul life beneath the earth. And as the king rounded upon his captain, the elf saw the same glow behind his commander's feral eyes.

"Rally the troops. We ride into the belly of that beast," he hissed with an anger as old as the earth itself. The captain stumbled to follow, knowing the folly of such an order. It would be like willingly heading into a snake pit. But an order was an order. And the king was still his king.

Thranduil slid his wife's sword in his belt and swung up upon his horse. His body still shook with fury, fueled by the pain still throbbing within his heart. His barely controlled manic state frightened the men but they hearkened to his words as he shouted. " _I want no being left alive in that pit of hell!_ _If it moves, tear off its limbs!_ _If it screams, remove its head!_ _If it breathes, slit its damn throat!_ " he roared, clutching at the reins of his anxious horse like a lifeline. " _Let there not even be a trace of the filth that remains there!_ _There will be no mercy from our swords this day for the sake of our kin who died upon theirs!_ " And with that, he unsheathed Amathwen's sword and held it high for all to see. A ripple of shock swept through the elven army. All that looked upon it recognized the sword, for many had personally known the queen and fought alongside and for her. All of them had loved their fair queen and each would go to the ends of the earth for her. Shock turned to determination and duty as the army of elves now trembled with restrained vengeance, anxiously ready to follow their king. Thranduil brandished the sword high above his head in the rain and bellowed, " _Avenge your Queen and her heir this day!_ _Be sure that everything within that hole burns with the fury in our hearts!_ " And with that, the charge was led by the King of the Woodland realm, his loyal warriors at his heels.

* * *

 _Poor Thranduil…he cannot catch a break in his lifetime._ _I love how Thranduil is usually so composed and collected (though with an underlying stubborn temper to be sure) during times of tension, but everyone has their breaking point and I imagined the death of his wife as his._ _It clearly impacted him enough to never speak of it to Legolas whom he also loved dearly, so I figured it would make sense to show him a bit unhinged and manic in his response to losing her._

 _Again, this is purely all written for fun—reviews are appreciated!_ _Probably just one more chapter after this…we obviously need to find out what happens to little Legolas!_


	3. A Reason to Stay

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. (By the way, if you've read my other story "A Mighty Gift", this is where you'll see how Cílon enters the royal family's inner circle.)_

* * *

Within the hour, the orc hold had fallen. The elves were true to the king's word. No throat was left unslit. Nothing more breathed beneath the earth in Gundabad. They set the place ablaze with a fire so hot the rain could not quench its thirst. But there were no cheers of victory. No songs of triumph. All heads bowed in mourning for their lost queen and prince. Not a trace of them had been found within the orc fortress but their fate was certain. There would be no grave as there was no body for one. It was a much somber journey home.

As the sky grew dark, the last of the Mirkwood elves stumbled up and out of the hell hole. The rest had long gone, led home by their king, and the remaining stragglers who had managed to escape the fires were forced to make the trek home alone. The last lone soldier, Cílon, who was rather young for his rank, sank to his knees to breathe the fresh air and to regain his strength. This was the first he had ever seen of battle and his heart was sore from it. He gratefully drank in the quiet and looked up at the stars before a small cry reached his ears. Fearful an orc had slipped past their swords, he drew himself up, prepared to defend himself. But when the cry came again, he recognized it for what it was—the cry of a babe. Puzzled, the elf staggered towards the noise, the sound directing him off the beaten path and towards some dead bushes amongst the rocks on the side of the mountain. Kneeling once more, Cílon brushed away some of the dead branches and was shocked at what he found hidden between the rocks. A very small elven child—barely more than a year old—sat crying to himself, his dirty face stained with tear tracks. The boy looked up at his rescuer and hiccupped between sobs. The warrior's eyes widened as he beheld the child. Though he had personally never seen the crown prince, the identity could be none other. The boy looked ever as much like his father and about his neck was a single strand of white gems.

The boy sobbed anew again, calling out for his mother. The young warrior's heart broke in two as he scooped up the child in his arms. He must return him to the king as soon as possible, for he thinks his son to be dead along with his mother! But with no horse to speed along the journey, having lost it in the battle, it would be days before he knew he would arrive in Mirkwood. Setting his chin to his task, he carefully wrapped his precious treasure in what remained of his cloak and took the first step towards home.

* * *

The company of elves arrived in Mirkwood, quiet and somber. Not a word was spoken amongst them unless needed, but somehow the word had spread to the outer reaches of the kingdom: Queen Amathwen and Prince Legolas were dead.

The captain of the guard nervously remained close to his king as they arrived in Mirkwood. The monarch had not spoken or shown any emotion since the battle, and if he was honest, Captain Feren feared for the life of his king. Even now, his commander's elven glow had dimmed. As their horses entered the royal stables, the captain quickly alighted off his own to assist the king. Thranduil did not protest as he heavily landed, his shoulders slumped, and he leaned against his horse to catch his breath. The captain braced the king's shoulders and steadied him.

"Hir-nin?" he dared to ask, afraid. Thranduil straightened and managed to stand on his own, still somewhat oblivious to the world around him. Slowly, the king moved to enter the royal halls to go to his chambers. Still afraid for him, the captain moved to follow him but not before grabbing a nearby servant. "Send for Lord Elrond of Rivendell," he whispered fervently, his eyes flickering to the slumped retreating back of his king. "Tell him Captain Feren of Mirkwood requests his help for the sake of the king immediately. Tell him the queen and prince have been lost to death and the king is fading." The servant looked up startled into the captain's eyes. The wise captain cocked his head and squeezed the arm of the servant fervently. "Tell no one else this. Ride hard and fast for the sake of your kingdom. Now go."

* * *

Cílon tucked his royal charge closer to his chest and pressed onward. He cringed as another round of wailing came from within his cloak. The small prince would not stop crying! Even the offering of what little food he happened to have on his person could not tempt the boy to pause his tears. The young warrior had even tried singing, but nothing would distract the princeling from his stubborn task of wailing for his mother. It was not until nearly a full day had passed that Legolas had finally begun to tire out and quieted down from exhaustion. Though Cílon's ears were grateful for the lack of screaming, the silence frightened him, as it reminded him that he was very much alone. He bent his head to look within the folds of his cape.

"Hey there, penneth," Cílon coaxed as he looked down upon his small traveling companion. Legolas merely peered up, too sad to take much of an interest in anything Cílon had to share. "This necklace you have glitters more than the stars. You see?" Cílon pointed upwards to the night sky, shining with thousands of stars. Legolas followed his guardian's finger to look but his mournful expression did not wane. "Do you know what those stars do? They're a symbol of protection, of great elven kings and queens of old watching over us," Cílon told his prince gently and smiled to encourage him. "I think that's why your mother gave you these gems before she hid you—to protect you. Just like she is now, up there." The warrior watched as the babe fingered the gems about his neck, inspecting them curiously, before letting a tired yawn slip out. Cílon took the chance to try singing again, and this time succeeded in calming the prince to sleep. Wrapping his cloak about them both tighter to protect them from the night's chill, Cílon pressed on towards home.

* * *

Captain Feren anxiously watched from atop the palace wall, hawk-like eyes peering out into the woods. He prayed Lord Elrond would not delay and would come to the king's aid. The elven king had grown steadily worse, refusing to eat and refusing to speak, unless to shout to be left alone. He had holed himself up in his quarters, never leaving. Arveldir, Galion, and himself were busy juggling both the kingdom and their king, and Feren was afraid this tenuous time of waiting would soon come to an end for the worse.

A single note of announcement was heard from the gatekeeper's horn, and Feren quickly looked up to see who approached. He nearly fainted with relief at the sight of the Lord of Imladris, riding fast towards the palace. Feren shouted for the gate to be opened and rushed below to welcome the elf inside. No sooner had the captain reached the gate than Elrond came sweeping through, his face flushed from his brisk ride.

"Where is he?" he breathed heavily. "What happened?" Captain Feren quickly ushered Elrond further in and explained the events of the battle as they walked. The dismal account caused Elrond to frown deeper and worry festered further in his own heart. Though he and the Elven king were not on the closest of terms, being leaders of their realms along with their shared past upon the plains of Dagorlad had caused their paths to cross many times. Elrond disliked the king's notorious temper and stubbornness but admired him for his love and dedication to his people. Though he may not have agreed with all of Thranduil's politics, there was no denying the significant role he played in Middle Earth, especially in the North.

The two elves eventually reached the door of Thranduil's chambers and paused. Captain Feren nervously raised his fist to knock but followed through out of determination to help his king. "My lord Thranduil? It is your captain, and I have brought Lord Elrond to see you," announced Feren and worriedly eyed Elrond, unsure if the king would even let them enter. At first no response was heard but a tense reply eventually sounded through the heavy doors.

"I have told you I do not wish to be disturbed." The malice in the king's tone was only overshadowed by the hurt that trembled with each syllable. The dire situation was magnified in that one sentence and Elrond braced himself at the door.

"Thranduil, I will enter regardless of your wishes for the good of this realm and your people, but I ask again for your permission to enter," Elrond called out, knowing that with the Elven king he would need to be direct. Feren was suddenly grateful Elrond was there and hoped he would be able to speak to their king as no one else could reach him. The Lord of Imladris was a healer in many respects, and the King of Mirkwood _needed_ healing. Silence followed Elrond's request, but finally a softer answer of "Enter" was heard. Elrond nodded to Feren that he would take it from there and took the extra second to place a comforting hand on the worried elf's shoulder.

"You did right to send for me. I will do what I can for your people and your king," Elrond promised, calming some of the captain's fears. The elf smiled with thankfulness and bowed before leaving Elrond alone to the king.

Elrond softly entered the chambers and took in the sight before him. The room was surprisingly in order, though Elrond had half expected the king's temper to have left some mark on the furniture arrangement. He ventured further in past the sitting room to the bedroom where he found the king leaning against the fire mantle, his unadorned head bowed low. Worry spiked again in Elrond's chest at the sight of the king. The light of Thranduil's fëa had considerably dimmed and Elrond feared he was perhaps not in time. Already his body looked considerably weaker and paler, and the healer noticed the difficulty with which Thranduil struggled to breathe. Elrond paused at the bedroom entrance and remained still until the Elven king chose to acknowledge his presence.

"There is nothing you can do, Elrond," the king spoke with such a gentle and hollow warning, laden with anguish. "I regret you have travelled here needlessly." Elrond set his jaw firm and advanced closer.

"You cannot allow yourself to be consumed by this despair, Thranduil," countered Elrond, getting straight to the point. " _Needless_ is the loss of the life of Mirkwood's king."

"The realm will be much better led by others after my departure," replied Thranduil in soft tones, and his spirit wavered. "I have already made arrangements. It is settled," he announced with what firm authority he could. The king sank down into the chair nearest the fire and rested his head in his hand, shadowing his eyes from the fiery glow. Elrond rounded closer so he could truly see him. All anger from the king had already been spent. Before him was one so utterly broken, listless, and lost.

"Your people need _you_ ," stressed Elrond gently, compassion suddenly taking over as he saw the utter hopelessness surrounding the king. "Rare is it to find the devotion and love of a realm to its leader and not to his position." Thranduil audibly sighed and raked his shaking hand down his tired face and stared into the fire.

"It would not be fair duty to lead them as I am. They will need a stronger one to see them through the evil of this world," he whispered and shook his head. "I cannot bear it any longer."

"But you have borne it like none other," countered Elrond as he watched Thranduil rise to exit the chambers. "You more than anyone has borne the wrath and vileness of the evil that plagues our lands countless times over and in such ways that would destroy lesser beings." The healer followed the king out into his private deserted halls and walked closely beside him. "That same strength within you is what your people love and hold to." Thranduil's steps faltered briefly and he for the first time broke his gaze from the floor to look directly at Elrond. Behind the dim cerulean eyes swirled raw emotion and anguish.

"The source of that strength died beneath the earth at the hands of such evil. I now have no reason to stay," Thranduil barely breathed, his tone vulnerable and delicate. Elrond swallowed in fading hope as the dying king turned his gaze once more to the floor and continued listlessly on.

* * *

Cílon stumbled as his shaky legs caused him to trip over a tree root. He had been wandering for days with limited food and water supply and was beginning to weaken. Spurring himself to continue on, he readjusted his grip on the prince and ventured further into the forest. He was not sure what part of Mirkwood this was but attentively listened to the whispers of the trees to determine where to go. He was not far from the palace now.

He glanced down at his sleeping charge and saw the stained tear tracks on the prince's cheeks. Though he had not wailed again like he had before, the prince steadily had whimpered and cried the whole way. Sympathy overwhelming the young soldier, he cuddled the prince closer to comfort him and protected him from a low branch. It was not much longer when the trees began to thin and a clearing was in sight. The palace walls were still some distance away but were clearly recognizable. Though Cílon wasn't sure what part of the palace this was, he was relieved he had finally made it.

He ventured closer to the edge of the tree line and paused to get his bearings. He certainly did not recognize this garden; it looked to be private. Cílon thought nervously that he maybe shouldn't trespass and should instead go around to get closer to the walls when he heard voices. Curious but cautious, he peered past the tree line and into the garden where he saw two elves walking. Lords, most certainly by the looks of them, and as they drew nearer, unaware of his presence, he recognized King Thranduil. Cílon gasped at the state of his king, awakening Legolas in his arms. The king looked so worn and troubled, and even Cílon could tell the spirit of the king was fading. Sorrow welled up within his own soul to see his beloved king so distraught, but his thoughts were distracted by the sudden burst of energy from the child in his arms who wriggled to get free, the princeling's cry echoing clear across the garden.

* * *

Elrond followed Thranduil out into his private gardens, thankful there was no one else about. No matter how much he tried to reason with him, Thranduil stood resolute and showed no turning back. Though he had not known the young queen very well, Elrond knew the light-hearted spirit of Amathwen would be distraught to see her husband in such a state. The purity of the king's love and devotion to his wife had been heralded far beyond the borders of Mirkwood, and Elrond was sad to see it be his undoing.

"Thranduil, I beg of you to reconsider and stay," Elrond tried once more, though even his own hope was beginning to fade as the elf grew even weaker before his own eyes. "You are needed here."

"What needs to be accomplished here can be done by others," Thranduil replied tiredly. "I have no desire to…"

"ADA!" The sudden cry rang out clear and true across the grounds and brought both elves to a halt. Thranduil whipped around, his eyes wild and he barely dared to believe what he had heard.

" _Legolas_?" he scarcely breathed and looked frantically about for the source of the sound. He caught sight of commotion at the edge of the forest where a young elf emerged, struggling to contain a squirming elven child. The king's sharp eyes did not fail him, and his heart clenched tightly with emotion as he recognized his son whom he had thought to be dead along with his mother. Quickly gathering his robes, the king ran to the tree line, all thoughts to his royal presentation gone. Likewise, Elrond hurried after in disbelief. As soon as Thranduil was within distance, his arms desperately reached for his son who was all too eager to be within the arms of his father.

" _Ion-nin_!" Thranduil cried in utter shock and cradled the boy tightly to his chest. He savored the sense of life within his hands, thrumming with energy, elation, and overwhelming love. Legolas tightly clasped his arms around his father's neck and refused to let go, giggling with happiness. The overpowering emotion of relief forced Thranduil to the ground, Elrond helping to steady him to his knees. Tears of joy spilled over the Elven king's cheeks and he bent to place grateful kisses upon his son's golden head.

Elrond sighed with relief at the sight and turned his attention away from the king to allow him some privacy. His gaze fell upon the elf before him who had brought Legolas. He was obviously an elven warrior though incredibly young, probably had just recently reached of-age. Elrond noticed tears were also streaming down the young elf's face as he beheld his king reunited with his son. Elrond placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder to draw his attention and quietly asked, "What is your name?"

"Cílon Dwagorlion, hir-nin," the elf quietly replied, looking up at last to Elrond, and wiped his tears. The healer smiled warmly and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Cílon, your kingdom thanks you, and whether it knows it or not, it is in your debt."

"As am I." Elrond and Cílon turned their attention back to Thranduil who rose from the ground, still clutching Legolas like a lifeline. The king had managed to compose himself again, but the tears still trickled down his cheeks. "You have given me a gift I can never repay." Cílon swallowed his nervousness at being addressed by the king and bowed to show reverence.

"A service any member of your kingdom would gladly do for you, hir-nin, I assure you," spoke the young warrior, his eyes downcast in respect, and Thranduil and Elrond exchanged a glance.

"The character of your people is to be commended, King Thranduil," Elrond worded carefully and gave his equal a knowing look, his eyebrows rising in emphasis. "Their dedication to their _king_ is more than admirable."

"Indeed," replied Thranduil, a small smile tugging at his lips at Elrond's cheekiness. He returned his gaze to the soldier in front of him and paused only a moment in wise consideration before addressing the young elf. "You shall be promoted beyond your rank and shall join my private guard." Cílon glanced up quickly, surprise evident on his young face.

"My lord?" he gasped.

"Such dedication to one's king should not go unrewarded," Thranduil spoke in even, soothing tones as he stroked the back of his young son at his shoulder. "And such proven loyalty to one's prince should not be severed. Legolas will be your charge to protect when I have need of it." Cílon gasped again at such a high honor and looked to the babe on the king's shoulder. Legolas peeked out from his father's silken hair to smile gleefully, thoroughly content to be reunited with his father. The joy of the young prince spread to Cílon and he couldn't stop his own smile.

"As you wish, my lord. The honor is mine to serve." Thranduil smiled back fondly and nodded in gratitude. Cílon, suddenly compelled to meet any need that the royal family required, felt the courage to speak up again. "If you wish, my lord, I can see to it that the maids are prepared to receive the prince to clean him up for you. The journey was not easy on him," the young elf mentioned as he took in the dirt and grime on the prince. Thranduil softly smiled in thought as he untangled a tiny fist from his long hair.

"Thank you, but no," he answered as he beheld his son, unable to divert his gaze from what he had thought he had lost forever. "Have them draw the bath in my chambers instead. I will handle it myself," he instructed softly, a hint of sorrow touching his tone. Cílon bowed yet again in obedience and hurried off to see to the king's request.

Elrond watched with fondness as the king affectionately cuddled his son closer and pressed another kiss to his cheek. The king's expression then changed to one of surprise and then pain as he lifted a hand to finger the strand of white gems about the prince's neck. "These were Amathwen's," the king merely stated, another stray tear rolling down his cheek.

"She must have hidden him to protect him, knowing she would not be able to escape," Elrond reasoned in a low and quiet voice. He looked on as Thranduil merely closed his eyes and murmured something only audible to him and Legolas before placing a soft kiss on the gems and another on the brow of his son, his most precious gift from Amathwen.

"Come, ion-nin," spoke the king with renewed strength and turned towards the palace, his eyes focused on the babe. "Let us clean you up."

* * *

Thranduil entered his chambers alone with Legolas and was pleased to see the young elven warrior had followed his instructions to the letter. Near the hearth was the wooden tub, already full of warm sudsy water. The room was merely lit by the fire, as evening had started to fall. Thranduil silently gathered what he required for the prince's bath while keeping Legolas on his hip. The prince had yet to release his grasp of his father's robes and long hair. The boy's energy had waned a bit and he was merely content to cling to his father as he quietly went about preparing for the bath.

When it came time to put the boy in the tub, it was a bit of a struggle to release Legolas's hold but the king eventually managed to pry him off enough to undress him. The gems he placed safely in a small jewelry box that once belonged to Amathwen on the hearth's mantle, his eyes lingering on the precious heirloom for a second more before turning back to his son. Bending over the edge, he set the child in the warm water. Recalling his son's prior enthusiasm in the tub, Thranduil shed his outer robes so he merely wore his lighter tunic and rolled up his sleeves to avoid getting soaked. As he knelt beside the tub, he dipped his hands into the warm water, and silently the Elven king began to bathe his son. His gentle ministrations soothed the child and brought about a comfortable peace within the room. Legolas babbled very softly to himself but remained complacent, fascinated with the way the water droplets rolled off his hands.

As the king scrubbed the dirt and grime away, a very old and soft elvish lullaby found its way to his lips. The smooth, enchanting notes quieted the prince and he peered up at his father in awe from underneath the soap suds. The king continued to sing gently, bathing with such care and tenderness, his melody accompanied by the trickle of the water. When he reached the last verse of the lullaby, his son merely gazed upward, mesmerized by his father. The king slightly smirked and stroked his son's chubby cheek. "Do not look at me so. You were well aware I could sing as I have sung to you before. You just were never listening," he chastised playfully. Legolas giggled more so at his father's intonation than what was said before looking down and splashing the water with a squeal of joy. The king chuckled quietly to himself but then slowly turned somber as reality settled in his heart.

"This world is a dark one, penneth. It is full of hurt and sorrow," he warned him sadly. The child simply looked back up at his father with an unashamed grin and reached up for his face. Thranduil gave his son a small smile and kissed the inside of the outstretched palm. "But I shall do my best to protect you from it, for as long as I can. Just as your mother did." Legolas continued to reach for his father and wound his tiny hand in amongst his father's fingers, oblivious to his father's promise, too young to fully understand.

A slight stray gust of wind from the gaps in the ceiling above tumbled down unexpectedly, stirring up what small bit of dirt and dust remained on the cavern floor. A slight scratching echoed in the quiet room and drew Thranduil's gaze away from his son. There, on the hard floor, was a single green leaf, skidding to a stop by the Elven king's knee. Looking up through the cracks, Thranduil saw the starlight twinkling in the dark night sky above. A single tear trailed down his cheek and his breath caught in his throat.

"I shall miss you, mel-nin," the king whispered with sorrowful affection, the mournful farewell echoing deep within his heart. He bent his head and spied the lonesome leaf again. Long, slender fingers delicately cradled the green leaf and brought it to the attention of the elven prince. "Look, Legolas," Thranduil murmured softly with a smile as he set the leaf in the water and began to swirl his fingers. "See what your mother has sent you."

* * *

 _That's the last chapter! Short story, but I hope you enjoyed it. Random tidbit, but I chose the name Amathwen for the queen's name because (if my random internet source was correct) it means "shield", which I envisioned to sort of be her role in protecting her son in this story. And as for Legolas now taking to Thranduil, I imagine that, on what level he could, Legolas realized that his naneth was not coming back, and that fact along with his absence from his parents caused him to finally break through the initial ice with his father to begin the relationship that we all love between this father and son._

 _Reviews are appreciated, and thanks for reading!_


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